


Steps

by Macx



Series: The Post War Arc [9]
Category: Transformers Generation One
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-04
Updated: 2011-06-04
Packaged: 2017-10-20 03:24:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/208235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Macx/pseuds/Macx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Solving a personal problem always means taking a few steps towards each other. You need your own willingness to try again and the other's cooperation and willingness to let it happen. This story is the start of maybe a few less problems, a few less pains, and maybe friendship among enemies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Steps

Steve fumbled with the tie, trying to straighten the knot into something resembling more than a disastrous accident. He hadn't done this in years.....and it looked exactly like it. With a frustrated growl he straightened the tie and left his quarters. He hoped that this wasn't a bad omen for the evening. First he had cursed over having no tie, then he had cursed Kyle for grinning knowingly as he had borrowed one from him.   
Steve arrived at Ashtar's quarters a bit early and hesitated, finally knocking. He wondered if she had received his package and, more important, if she'd wear what he had sent her. It had taken him hours to decide to go into town and longer still to finally buy the dress. He had felt so stupid! The sales woman had smiled helpfully, knowingly and in a lot of amusement and he had cursed repeatedly. Here he was, several centuries old, and he felt like a teenager in the lingerie department.   
Because it was for someone very special. He wanted Ashtar to like it. Of course, she probably had a lot of dresses already.....   
Now he was even more nervous because he had no clue if Ashtar liked what he had chosen.   
When the door opened he knew.   
Steve swallowed and tried not to gape.   
Ashtar blushed as she felt his gaze on her and brushed nervously over the dress.   
"Is it.... wrong?" she asked, voice hesitant. She had spent hours trying to find out how the dress had to be worn, cursing it more than once.   
"No ... no, not at all," Steve managed, getting his surging emotions back under control. "It's beautiful. You're beautiful!"   
Ashtar blushed more.   
"Blue becomes you," he added nervously, wishing he had bought those flowers or the chocolates.   
Ashtar didn't meet his eyes and brushed imaginary dust off the dress. "You shouldn't have bought this..." she mumbled.   
"You don't like it?"   
His slightly pathetic question made her look up. Steve's eyes held an anxious look.   
"No, I like it! It's beautiful, but .... it's ... not for me!" she managed.   
Steve took her arm and gently pulled her out of the doorway. "It's all you, Ash," he said softly.   
Ashtar had fought going out and only because he had almost begged her to at least try this had she said 'yes'. She was brave enough to face the Interfaces .... but out in the open.... where everyone could see her, the strangeness, her alien looks? And now this dress.....   
"Thank you," she muttered self-consciously. "I just think .. you shouldn't have ... I mean ... it's only dinner!"   
Steve smiled gently. "Not for me."   
Ashtar's stomach was a hard knot, looking probably even worse than Steve's tie-knot. He offered her his arm and she took it, following him to the car waiting outside. It was one of those small rented ones. They drove into Strata and Steve parked the rental car at a valet parking of the restaurant, then bowed slightly.   
"Milady."   
Ashtar had to giggle and took his arm as they walked into the restaurant. She wanted to cringe away when she saw all those people, some looking at her, though none made a comment or called her a name. The waiter accompanied them to their table and she sat down, mind reeling at the feeling of being so exposed. She tugged at her dress to cover herself a bit better but it was to no avail.   
Steve's amused smile didn't help and she glared half-heartedly at him.   
Dinner was a mixture of embarrassed moments and hidden looks. Ashtar concentrated mainly on the food when it arrived, glad the small talk was over. She didn't know how to behave and it didn't help that Steve's eyes rested on her all the time. He had helped her choose something to eat from the myriad of dishes, most of which she didn't know, and his amused, sparkling eyes had more than once choked a reply in her throat. She felt like she had never been with a male before! All her experience with the other sex seemed to flee and leave her a defenseless, vulnerable person, blushing and feeling embarrassed like a teenager.   
Now, after dinner, they were walking the streets of Strata which were bustling with aliens of all kinds, though mainly humans. Ashtar gaped at everything, wide-eyed, momentarily forgetting her company. Steve explained the downtown area to her, taking her into one of the amusement areas, an arcade, the shopping malls, letting her explore this sparkling world.   
Steve watched his companion with a smile. Ashtar was like a little kid, all eyes and open mouth, just barely restraining herself from pressing her nose against a window. She had never been to a city like this before, all lights and glamour, people jostling around, smells and sounds cascading over her. His eyes never left her, noted all the little gestures, moves, expressions.....   
And he felt like an idiot.   
This wasn't exactly how someone should treat his date. His last serious date had been .... centuries ago. He had grown rusty! Dinner had been okay, and he had loved to see her blush at some remarks, at compliments, look away in embarrassment. His love for her grew and so did the pain because he knew there was nothing coming from her side. Sometimes, yes. She didn't exactly push him away, but his attempts for a serious commitment were met with denial.   
And now he was taking her into this melting pot of light, sound and smell, overwhelming her with it all. He should have invited her to a romantic dinner outside downtown. But he had also wanted to show her the sights. Life. The town.   
It had been wrong.   
Idiot! He snarled at himself. You are overwhelming her!   
Somehow he managed to guide their steps to the park and he felt her breathe deeply as they entered little, green refuge, taking in the scent of wood and earth and grass. There weren't many people here and it was much more quiet. Ashtar looked curiously at all the plants as they walked silently along the paths. Steve simply watched her, a smile tugging at his lips at her open joy.   
"This is .... beautiful," she said after some time.   
"It's a bit like the planet I came from," he told her and gently pulled her over to the little hill overlooking a small lake and tall trees. "The hydroponics team worked wonders."   
They sank down on the soft ground and Ashtar brushed her hands over the grass.   
"You are from the planet they call Earth?" she finally asked, not looking at him.   
Steve shook his head with a fine smile. "No. The planet I come from is called Akhri. It's like Earth in many ways, but a few centuries ahead in development."   
Ashtar noticed a fine layer of sadness penetrating his otherwise cheery tone. "I never heard of Akhri," she confessed. "Then again .... I know little." Embarrassment flooded through her again at the confession of missing knowledge. Somehow she always felt inappropriately educated around all the other Interfaces.   
He took her hand and wrapped his fingers loosely around hers. "Hey, barely anyone knows my homeworld. It's beyond the Rift and no one can go there anymore. The Rift closed."   
Now the pain was more audible. Ashtar looked up. This was more than just the simple fact that he, as an Interface, a nearly immortal being, couldn't return to those he loved, go back to his world.   
"What is a Rift?" she asked.   
"The Rift is a rupture in space. It opens slowly and takes centuries to close completely, I'm told. My people discovered the Rift and sent exploration crews in. Found out quite a lot about this part on the other side...."   
Ashtar's mouth formed a slight 'oh' of surprise.   
"It's kind of an opening between galaxies or something," Steve went on. "I'm not out of another dimension or time. I'm not sure what the scientific explanation is, but it's definitely not different dimensions. It's something else. Anyway, I'm a Rift pilot, or was a Rift pilot, and when suddenly people disappeared in the Rift, I started to investigate."   
"And you came here?"   
He nodded, absent-mindedly playing with a little stone.   
"And you met Midnight?" Ashtar didn't know if she was stepping over a line, but she was curious.   
"In a way, yes."   
Silence settled between them and she became acutely aware of how tense he was. Something concerning those memories was no fun.   
"I ... I'm sorry," she whispered.   
Steve's head came up. "What?"   
"You have bad memories. I didn't want to stir them up. I...." She stopped, deeply ashamed.   
"Ashtar, no... It's been a long time ago," Steve protested.   
"Old memories always hurt," she mumbled, refusing to meet his eyes.   
Steve touched her face and gently forced her to look at him. "It is an old memory, true, and it hurts. But it's nothing I can't handle."   
Somehow it was more or less a lie....   
She sighed and way too many of her own memories surfaced. "Did your people look for you?" she now asked, desperately trying to focus on something else and since she had always been curious about him, this was the best way open to her right now: stories.   
"No. The Rift is a dangerous place and when I went out to explore it, five people had vanished in it already. I was asked to look for them, investigate their disappearance.... You know, I was no longer on active duty anyway. I was a Private Investigator." Steve smiled slightly as he continued to tell her about his life, his family, his siblings ..... and old pain resurfaced with a vengeance. He finally stuttered into silence, unable to continue. All the good memories would never change what had happened to him all that time ago.   
"Oh," Ashtar whispered.   
"They probably declared me dead anyway," he told her with a grin that was as false as it could be.   
Ashtar gasped slightly.   
"Well, it's been several centuries now," Steve added lightly. "By course of nature I should be dead." It was attempted as a joke, but it failed miserably. "Yeah, well.... Uhm, how about you....?"   
"Me?" Ashtar asked, sounding wary.   
"Well, tell me about yourself. Where do you come from? What are your people like?"   
She looked down at the grass, more emotions warring with each other. "Not like yours," she muttered. "Primitive." Shame was audible in her voice again.   
"You are not primitive," Steve protested. "Every race is different."   
She winced at the word 'different', biting her lip.   
Steve had noticed it, feeling her body tense, and cursed his inability concerning dating. He had just stumbled into something and it was not the best of subjects to discuss. He had wanted to get to know Ashtar, her past, her life, but it was apparently something she didn't like to discuss. He wished he could start this over again.   
"Uhm .... listen ... maybe we should just ..... errr...." He stumbled over his words, desperately groping around for something to say. "A movie?" he then blurted.   
"Movie?"   
"Like TV. Just a larger screen."   
Ashtar nodded, trying to banish her past memories, but they stubbornly stayed.   
They walked back in silence and Steve knew he had blown it. He angrily scolded himself for his insensibility. He should have seen this! Whatever it was, he added morosely, not even sure what he had done wrong in particular.   
Much to his rising irritation the movies were sold out. This date was getting worse and worse.   
Ashtar noticed Steve's anger and she knew it had partly to do with her refusal to tell him about herself. She felt bad about it, but she just couldn't get herself to talk freely about her past.   
"I think," he sighed, "this is a sign."   
"It is?"   
"Well, that we should call it a night...." He shrugged.   
"Oh."   
They walked to the car, the ride back conducted in silence. When he escorted her to her quarters, Steve wished he could go back in time and do it all again. So much for a nice evening. It had been a disaster.   
Ashtar smiled at him nevertheless and called it a nice time. When the door closed, he loosened his tie and walked back to his own quarters, all the time cursing himself.

* * *

F/X was walking down the corridor toward his quarters, smiling, feeling pleased with himself. Somehow it had been a good day, most of all because Cathy Lee finally had a job in Strata-Mainframe, working as a legal assistant for one of the law firms there. It wasn't a dream job and it was only part-time, but it was a job and that was what she wanted. He was still working on getting her to realize that she didn't need to pay rent, but well, it could wait.   
That was the moment he discovered a man standing in front of his quarters. He was human, about sixty to mid-sixties, as far as F/X was a judge in the matter of human age, with silver, short hair, and sun-tanned skin. He looked like someone who had worked outdoors a lot in his life, his figure slender, almost whiplash thin.   
Now he looked up, blue eyes meeting the Sentinel's equally blue optics.   
"You are F/X?" he asked.   
F/X nodded, slightly confused. The man wasn't wearing a uniform or some kind of official dress. And he didn't wear a name tag or something.   
"Yes, I am. And you are....?" he asked warily.   
"Someone who wants to talk to you.... My name is Paul Russell. I'm Catherine's father."

F/X sat on the chair, looking down at the smaller human, his mind awhirl with thousands of thoughts. He had the link shielded from his Interface partner, who was too absorbed in her work anyway to notice something like that. Cathy Lee had told him about her family once, briefly, in neutral words, mentioning she didn't particularly care about them anymore, then she had switched the subject. F/X knew her mother Lesley had died several years ago, an active purist member, someone who had raised her only child to believe that everything alien was bad and evil and needed to be cleansed. Her father Paul had worked as a construction engineer and had retired two years earlier. F/X had not dug deeper. He didn't want to look up information that wasn't given to him freely.   
"Why did you come here?" the Sentinel now asked. "And why talk to me?"   
Russell smiled slightly. "I know who you are and I know your connection to my daughter, F/X. It's no longer such a secret."   
He frowned. "We never made it a secret."   
The old man smiled again. "I know. Catherine did. I'm surprised she was able to go through this after .... after all that happened in her life.... " He looked at the floor. "We made mistakes, her mother and I, and I wish I could go back in time and do it all again, but different this time." He shook his head. "But it was done and it hurt my little girl. I never realized it until some time ago. I never saw what we did."   
F/X tilted his head, optics narrowed.   
"You probably know more about me than I know about you," Russell said, looking up again. "I was an ACL member, an active one, for most of my life. As was my wife. We raised our daughter to those believes and made her into what she is today, gave her all those burdens. She made her way, but she was haunted .... a torn soul." His face was infinitely sad. "Xenophobia. We taught it to her and she embraced it. We were so blind, so wrong......"   
Russell inhaled deeply. F/X watched him, noting the drawn face, the tension, the clenched hands. He was almost desperate.   
"Why come to me?" he now asked quietly. "Why not go to talk to your daughter directly?"   
Russell laughed humorlessly. "Do you think she would talk to me?! I sent her countless letters and she never answered one. I doubt she read even one. F/X, she hates me. She hates her family, her past, her life. I know she went through a lot before she met you and I know she must have suffered when she linked to you." He shrugged. "I know about Interfacing, though I guess it's only ACL knowledge and that shows this process in the worst possible light."   
"I bet," F/X muttered under his breath. "What do you think you can accomplish by talking to me?" he then asked out aloud.   
"I'm not sure. Really. I thought .... maybe.... well, you and Catherine are parts of each other. Maybe you could help me?" Hope reflected in his voice.   
F/X frowned. Help? How? He knew exactly what Cathy Lee would say. She'd refuse to even hear him out on this and forcing the subject upon her with the link was not his way.   
"How?" he now wanted to know.   
Russell shrugged helplessly. "I don't know. In any way you can. I just want to talk to her. Just once. I won't bother her ever again and I will be out of her life after that."   
"But still very much on her mind, Mr. Russell."   
The human nodded. "Probably. Making my peace means opening old wounds inside her and I don't want to hurt her. I love my daughter, F/X, I truly do. I regret my actions, but they cannot be undone."   
F/X rose. "I won't force her to do anything she doesn't want to do on her own. She is my partner and friend."   
"I would never demand anything like this," Russell protested. "I just want her to know...."   
"And the best way for this would be to talk to her freely and privately, not use me as a mediator. I will be with her when you talk, in her mind, to help, but I won't be the one to start it."   
"Understood. Thank you for listening to me, F/X."   
The Sentinel nodded. "You are welcome, Mr. Russell."   
He watched the human leave and sighed deeply. He didn't need this! Cathy didn't need this!

* * *

Spike had returned from Aristna several hours ago, had gone through the usual debriefing and now had time off. Rodimus Prime and the rest of the doorway team would discuss his findings and they wouldn't go back through until Starscream had declared the new coordinates safe for travel. That would take a while. After spending an hour in the Protogen chamber to get his energy levels up to normal, he decided to do some exploring on his new home world now. He hadn't had much time to see the new Cybertron lately.   
There weren't many people around and he passed as a Cybertronian anyway, though a small one. His symbol didn't draw many looks since he and the four other Protogens active had been seen around West Central countless times. He walked to the elevators and rode to the upper level, which was where a look-out point had been built. The elevator stopped and he walked out, finding himself in a large room with a panorama dome. There were humans and Cybertronians up here, though it was far from crowded.   
The view was as spectacular as it was new. The Cybertron below him was not the one he knew from the first days he had been here, when he had still been Adam Witwicky. A lot had changed and it was still changing. There were new buildings, new highways, railway systems, newly filled water channels. And there was Strata-Mainframe, home of the humans on Cybertron.   
Spike smiled a bit. They had changed as well. The ones who had come from Earth to Cybertron to live here had helped rebuild this world and they had rebuild themselves. Many had started to call themselves Cyberrans, a mixture of Cybertronian and Terran. They were proud of what they were and many had started to raise their families here.   
Like his own son Daniel. He and his wife Kimber had come to Cybertron when their daughter had been five and Dana had grown up in Strata-Mainframe and West Central.   
His eyes were drawn to the sky and he searched for a trace of a moon base, but there was none. It was too early in the evening to show.   
"Impressive, isn't it?"   
Spike didn't turn as he heard the voice, he simply smiled. "Yes," he then said.   
He looked down at the blonde woman with the unruly mop of hair and the lively dark brown eyes. As always, she was dressed in some kind of wild outfit, that was not too wild to be outstanding but still out of the ordinary.   
"Your day off?"   
He nodded.   
"And you didn't tell me?"   
Spike chuckled. "I thought you were working, DJ."   
DJ Witwicky, his granddaughter, shrugged. "I was." She gestured at the art book she was carrying under one arm. "I'm just checking on some Topside stuff since we are mostly done with designing Below. It's now up to the construction engineers to make sense of our plans." She grinned.   
He reflected the grin. "So, what were you planning?"   
DJ tilted her head, a thoughtful expression on her face. "Well, how about a simple fun day with my grandfather?"   
Spike copied her expression. "That might be a possibility. Want to go flying?"   
"Way cool, gramps!"   
He laughed, shaking his head. DJ was a grown woman with a responsible job, but she tended to fall back to being a teenager now and then. Especially on her days off.   
"But only if you stop calling me 'gramps'."   
She grimaced. "You really want a promise I might not be able to keep?"   
They walked back to the elevators.   
"Nah," he just made.

* * *

Gentle white clouds rode high against the brightly blue sky. The distant waters gleamed a brilliant turquoise and the crests of the waves were a foamy white, almost unreal. Here and there silvery beaches twinkled with the promise of relaxation and a good time. At the far western edge of the steamy jungle, rising in sharp contrast to the sea and the beach, volcanic highlands reached for the sky.   
Out of the jungle, ancient stone towers rose like fingers into the sky, ancient monolithic obelisks telling a tale of the lost civilization of this planet. They were overgrown with vines, showing signs of decay. The jungle had started to claim the land used by the lost people, the vast courtyards around the towers cracked with young plants pushing their way out of the ground. Moss covered the stones.   
The place was an archeological treasure trove, a place of mysteries and secrets which might never be revealed, the ancient glyphs fading with the centuries.   
A pyramid rose between several obelisks, a kind of center point of the array of strange stones, as ancient and undiscovered as the world it stood on. It was overgrown with weeds and underbrush but still beautiful, covered with more glyphs and pictures carved in stone to tell the history of the people who had once built it. Ornaments of a long gone time.   
On top of the pyramid sat a statuesque being, not belonging to this world of mystery but somehow still part of it. Green, pupilless eyes looked at the ornaments, the pictures, reading the story.... knowing part of it ... being part of it.   
Pictures of sacrifice, of worship, of death ... and of the all-powerful, god-like being these people had believed in. The being they had sacrificed their own to.   
Because of a game!   
The wings adorning the broad and powerful back quivered slightly. Feathers rustled and a long, whip-like tail twitched. Sharp claws cracked stone as they clenched almost spasmodically. A hiss came out of the beak-like snout.   
Gryph looked over the jungle of a world like many she had seen and visited before. She had never been here personally, but she felt like this was part of her. Maybe she had been here, maybe not. At least she hadn't been conscious then. Whatever had happened to her in the time she had been asleep, part of the Game, she was now free. But this freedom meant nothing to her because she knew that part of her team was still out there. Somewhere.   
She closed her eyes in pain, lids sliding over optics that were the only hint that this creature was not organic but artificial in origin. She had searched and traveled a long time now, starting from the planet where she and the others had been discovered in stasis, part of a sick game happening in a virtual reality. She had been unaware of this Game for a long time and when she had broken the control, she had realized that there was no way out unless the player, the Master of the Game, let her. And he hadn't. She had lived and played through thousands of settings, always remembering, always sent on and on and on.   
Until the day the Master had made the mistake of hooking an Interfaced robot up to the Game. Rodimus Prime, an Autobot. He had been the key to freedom, but he had also been the key to pain. Over four hundred aliens of all races had been in it, trapped in stasis cylinders, among them her team. Or so she had hoped. All she had been able to find was one: Claw. The others had no longer been there.   
Gryph had searched. She had been unable to accept their loss and she couldn't accept the many changes that had happened while she had been asleep. Friends had died, alliances had been formed, new players were in the game.   
A new game.   
Reality.   
She had accepted and realized that she was no longer in a controlled virtual reality but in the world she had left millennia ago. And somewhere out there were the others.   
Claw had followed her, a loyal member of their small force, her sanity. She knew he was the only reason why she had not yet lost it. He had been with her when they had discovered more and more of the Game's rules, the origin and the possible planets where her team mates might be.   
The Game was conducted by an alien nameless race. They just called themselves Games Masters. All they did was play. They used vast stations to collect their players, all of them unwilling, locking them in stasis and entering them in the virtual reality of the Games. All the Games Masters were connected somehow, their games like those played by children on the internet. They never met in person, they just played. The loser had to hand over the participants to the winner and had to either look for new players or win them back.   
Gryph shuddered. Trade with living beings who had no idea what they were used for! Disgust rose inside her. And anger. She knew she had no chance to ever find the one who had done this to her. The Masters worked in secret, never showing their faces. The carvings only relayed how the natives of a world had seen them. All were different.   
Small yellow pin-points of light glowed inside her green optics and her tail twitched in anger. Her team had probably lost a round and they had been traded. And she had found them, at least most of them. Pain lanced through her again.   
Ashk was dead. They had discovered her lifeless body shell on the last planet they had visited, the planet where they had found clues that this world of steamy jungles and volcanoes might be another base. Claw had examined the gray shell of their friend and had found out that she had been killed while in stasis. Chamber malfunction.   
Gryph had lost it then, almost trashing the whole room before calming down. The Game Masters had no perception of life. They didn't value it. Their players were objects for them, to be used and thrown away when no longer functional. It made her furious, and mad to a degree where she lost perception of everything around her, fighting whoever confronted her. Claw had let her live out her anger.   
"Gryph?"   
She turned her head and discovered her friend beside her. He had almost noiselessly come up here. His body was more massive than hers, looking like someone had fused a cockroach and scorpion together just to see what the outcome might be. Well, the result had been a powerful, quite fast and agile Sentinel with a surprisingly calm and gentle nature.   
"I'm ready," she whispered.   
They had not found anything here. No base, no nothing. If there was something hidden in the countless stone temples, pyramids and obelisks, then it eluded them how to discover it.   
"Falling into the trap of being a pest," Claw said as she turned and walked to the giant steps leading down, "but don't you think we should go home?"   
Her head whipped around and she stared angrily at him. "No!"   
Claw stopped and tilted his head. "Gryph, we know what happened to our team. One is dead, one refuses to come home and the other is forever missing."   
"No!" she roared, her feathers bristling.   
The sting of SkyDancer's words still sat. And it sat deep. They had found SkyDancer by accident. He had been on one of the asteroid stations in the Tikalit Belt, living and working there, totally disinterested in joining with his old team mates again or to come home.   
"Cybertron stopped being my home when the slaves drove me off. I will never return. I'm no longer part of it all. I'm no longer a Sentinel."   
Those words had hit Gryph more than any physical force could have. She knew she had only stared at him in incomprehension, then turned and left. She didn't know where she had gone. The next time she had been conscious of her surroundings she had been out in the asteroid desert, shaking, systems burning with anger and frustration, as well as hurt feelings.   
"Gryph?" Claw's soft voice intruded into her memories and pulled her out again.   
"I won't leave Matchcode out there!" she whispered.   
"No one says you should, but we don't know where to go from here. Matchcode might be still in the Game, he might be out there, alive, but he might also be dead."   
"Don't say that!" she hissed.   
"You have to face this possibility...."   
She hung her head, wings shaking with emotions. "What do I have to go back to? The world has changed, my friends are all but gone, and Cybertron is not my home...."   
Claws smiled gently. "It is, and you know it. As for your friends, many are still alive and you know you can accept the others if you want to. Even Midnight."   
Gryph's optics narrowed. Claw's smile widened. He knew she didn't like the new Sentinel leader and opposed to him. He had taken the place of a dear friend, Thon Roque, and though she knew he had not usurped the position, he was still her enemy.   
"He better not cross my path!" she growled and spread her wings.   
Claw chuckled. "You can't evade him forever, Gwiff."   
She frowned at him for using the nickname. "We'll see about that."   
"So we go back to Cybertron?"   
Torn between her duties as the team leader to her team and simple reasoning she finally nodded. "For now."   
With that she catapulted herself into the air. Claw smiled again, watching the griffin fly back to where their ship was.   
<She is hurting>   
Claw sighed as he scurried down the steps, coordinating his joints in a way no one believed he was able to.   
<I know. And she will hurt for some more time>   
Tiriga, his Interfaced, echoed his sigh. <She has to accept>   
<You know her, Ri. She is stubborn>   
She smiled. <It makes her into Gryph>   
He nodded, finding his way through the jungle with ease and almost effortlessly. <I think if she is back among our kind she will find a way to unwind. The Game changed her>   
<It made her prefer solitude to friendship> Tiriga observed.   
<She always was a loner of sorts. She always will be, Ri>   
His Interface nodded. <But she never was this hell-bent on something. She is destroying herself with guilt>   
Claw sighed. <She feels responsible for those on her team>   
<Nothing wrong about that, but you can take it to extremes....>   
<Tell her that>   
Tiriga smiled slightly. <I value my life>   
Claw didn't say anything on that, mostly because they had arrived at the landing sight. Gryph was already there, transformed into her robot mode. Claw walked into the ship and they took off minutes later.

* * *

His name was Nikaa. He was from a planet called Mayi, born to the tribe of the Zhunra, second son of Ghlanadra and Ntion. As a second son there hadn't been many options open to him. The first son inherited the father's land, herd and possessions. The first daughter inherited the mother's. All other children were without rights and all they could do was to hope for the first son to die. Nikaa had not been content with this option and had sought another profession – thievery. He was a professional, highly skilled and fast. He had been employed by many, lords and shadowy characters, men and women.   
Until he had been taken by the aliens. He had no recollection of the time he had spent in what all the others called the Game. He vaguely remembered the last 'game' he had been in, but no details. Nikaa had woken among strangers in a strange world. He wouldn't have been Nikaa if he hadn't adapted quite quickly. And he had. First he had explored the city called Below, had gotten to know all the tunnels, corridors and streets, the buildings and construction sites. He had learned about the world, all the aliens, the people he owed his life to.   
Nikaa played with a small amulet, a stone on a string of leather. It was the last connection to his tribe and family, something he had never lost. He stowed it back under his shirt again and jumped from the pile of metal beams lying discarded outside the construction site. He slung his small bag over one shoulder and walked through the streets, ignoring the other aliens. Nikaa had plans. Big plans. There was a whole unexplored world down here, full of treasures. And he had decided to see that he got his share.

* * *

"You are rather quiet today."   
F/X was jolted out of his thoughts. "Uhm, I was ....thinking."   
Cathy Lee laughed slightly. "You? Thinking? Don't shock me!" She steered the fighter jet to the left, watching the landscape fly by.   
They were on another training run, one of many. She had learned fast, but she was far from being perfect when it came to battle maneuvers. There was a small part inside her that absolutely despised this. She also had to get used to the ability to control F/X when phased. When a Sentinel was injured and unconscious, the Interfaced partner could take over all functions and actually be the robot. She didn't like this either.   
He smiled a bit at her remark now, but didn't say anything.   
Cathy in turn was slightly surprised by F/X's sudden silence and missing excitement for flying. Every time they had been up in the last months he had been sending out signals of joy and thrill. He loved flying. He loved fast flying. He absolutely adored battle maneuvers that involved fancy flying.   
"Something wrong?" she asked, trying out light maneuvering and feeling pleased at how easily she could do it all.   
"No."   
"F/X....."   
"Really!"   
<I can read you, Mister, so don't lie!>   
He sighed. <It's really nothing>   
<Then why don't you just tell me?>   
He was silent for some time, then sighed again. <I had a visitor yesterday>   
<And?>   
F/X hesitated. He knew whatever would happen now, it could only get worse. <Someone you know....>   
Cathy Lee frowned.   
<Your father>   
The world froze around her. Her hands clenched around the flight control, her face drained of all color, and her eyes were nothing but chips of ice. A green flame in a almost chalk white face.   
F/X felt her shields slam up and cut him off completely, a painful wall between them.   
"Cathy?" he asked softly.   
She didn't show any reaction. She simply stared ahead and F/X automatically took over flying.   
"Cathy, don't shut me out," he begged.   
"What did he want?" she asked, voice as icy as her expression. She still stared straight ahead.   
"He knows about our connection and he talked to me," F/X answered carefully.   
Icy silence again. "About what?" she then asked.   
"No about... it's more of a 'to'. He wants to talk to you, Cathy."   
"No!" It was a low hiss.   
"Cathy...."   
"I said no!" Her voice nearly cracked.   
"He is your father...." F/X tried again.   
"Land!"   
"But!"   
<I said land!>   
The mental voice coming through the shields was like a whip-crack. F/X landed and let his partner get out of the cockpit. Cathy Lee looked up at him, rage in her eyes.   
"Why?" he asked softly.   
"Because I won't talk to him!" she hissed.   
F/X looked at her, noting the tension, feeling it in the way she shielded herself against every mental probe. He had hit a nerve that was probably even more open than her xenophobia.   
"He made mistakes, Cathy, I know. I feel it like you...."   
She turned away, hugging herself. "You can't."   
"I do. We are linked. Not now, I know, but usually we are....." F/X's voice grew softer. "I know what happened to you in your past, at least what you revealed to me."   
"You don't know half of it!" she screamed. F/X touched her gently. She flinched but didn't move. Her body was trembling badly. "Not even half...." she whispered.   
The Sentinel thought he saw tears brimming in her eyes. He reached out with his mind, probing the shields. They wavered and he knew Cathy Lee didn't really want to keep him out.   
"I don't want to force you," F/X now whispered.   
She bit her lip, pulling herself together with an incredible power. She had always been strong, though he wished she wouldn't insist on it. Sometimes you needed help – like right now. There were only two people who could talk to her, F/X himself and Jeff Winters.   
"I won't talk to him," she then said, voice stable, and quite clearly telling him that she wouldn't listen to any of his arguments.   
"Okay." He smiled slightly. <Cathy?>   
She looked up and he smiled even more at this acknowledgment of their once again open link.   
<Let's fly back?>   
Cathy Lee shook her head. <No. I don't want to.....> She closed her eyes and phased, F/X automatically accepting the intimate link. <Let's go somewhere else>   
The Sentinel transformed and shot off into the sky.

* * *

Midnight didn't know whether he was doing the right thing or not. Then again, was there really such a thing as right or wrong? Didn't it all blur into one and you choose how to see it, how to handle it, and make the worst of it? He smiled wryly. Well, he definitely had made the very worst of the whole situation and he didn't know if there was a chance to ever resolve the matter. He had done to someone else what others had done to him, though out of a totally different motivation. He had done it out of uncontrolled anger, the others had hurt him because of fear. He had judged a person because of what she was and not because of who she was.   
Midnight knew he had to face the result of his actions one day, but whenever he had tried to convince himself that now was the best time, it had failed. He had found a way to evade the confrontation.   
Not today.   
No more hiding.   
He felt his partner's support and he knew Steve was standing behind him, had even more than once told him to go and do it.   
Tarakk didn't deserve what he had done, he had finally come to realize. Years had passed and that meant a long time of pain. He had declared Tarakk his personal enemy because of her Venerakkin heritage. She hadn't done anything to him and she had had no choice in the matter of becoming what she was now.   
Just like him.   
Midnight sighed. Just like he had never known all about the Sentinels' past, had to learn it step by step, Tarakk had not known about the Veneran's past.   
Well, maybe.   
Most likely.   
He sighed again. How should he ever know? She could lie right into his face and he wouldn't be able to tell; he would believe her. But then there was his instinct, something he had suppressed whenever it came to Venerakkin. Tarakk had never lied to him, had never deceived him, on purpose or with bad intent.   
The Tower came into view and he slowed down his approach, identifying himself. He got the permission to continue his approach. Transforming, the Sentinel leader touched down, looking at the impressive structure looming up in front of him. The Tower was in a part of the Badlands borders that had been declared safe. The Badlands were still not completely explored and the Venerakkin were trying to do their share of helping solve a few more mysteries in this area.   
Midnight hesitated one more moment, then entered. All he had to do now was to find Tarakk, which might be a bigger problem than he thought. It wasn't. He accidentally ran into Magikk, a Venerakkin medic, who nodded at him with a friendly smile. Strangely enough, this sign of friendliness stung deeper than any hostility, because he knew it only extended to him and not the other Sentinels.   
Midnight shoved these dark thoughts aside and followed Magikk's instructions on how to find his way to the top of the Tower. The top level was rather flat and dotted with strange bulky, container-like constructions. He suspected they were antennae, airvent intakes and radar stations.   
And there was the well-known figure of Tarakk close to one of the bulky things. He approached her, stopping a few feet away.   
"Tarakk?"   
She whirled around so fast he nearly took a step back. Cursing his reactions Midnight tried to calm down his flaring aura.   
"What do you want?" she asked, voice cold and her whole posture tense and wary.   
It hurt him, but Midnight knew he deserved it.   
"Talk?" he asked.   
Her face was closed off, no emotion flickering over it. "Sorry, it's past my office hours."   
Midnight fought down his irritation. He deserved that as well.   
"I know. I thought maybe you could extend your hours....?"   
Tarakk looked silently at him. After a while the silence became oppressive.   
"Please, Tarakk?" Midnight begged softly.   
"Bad conscience?" she asked, voice flat and still emotionless.   
He winced. "Yes and no. Listen, I made mistakes and I stand to them. I was angry, I was furious, I didn't think straight." A deep sigh came over his lips. "I acted irrational and I hurt people. Rodimus, my partner, my own people.... you."   
Tarakk's optics were unforgiving.   
Midnight bit his lower lip. "I just came here to say.... that I'm sorry for what I did. I hurt you more than I can ever make up for and I understand how you feel. I just wanted you to know." He made a weak gesture. "Both our people are not on the best of terms and it shows. A lot happened in the past and it won't heal right away, but I just want to say..... I'm trying. Really trying."   
When she didn't say anything, Midnight turned, feeling strangely hurt deep inside. Tarakk had meant something to him, though he wasn't sure what exactly and on what level. They had been friends despite their differences and he had liked her company, but a lot had come between them.   
When?   
How?   
Why?   
He didn't know.   
Midnight walked away, his steps sounding incredibly loud in the silence.

Tarakk watched him go. Inside her, a small voice screamed at her to run after him, not let him leave, but she couldn't. She was deeply hurt, mostly her soul and she couldn't find the courage to go past her anger and talk. Part of her absolutely hated Midnight for what he had done, telling her he deserved every ounce of icy coldness she could muster; another part forgave him. He had hurt her and now she was hurting him in return. That he had acted out of rage over something the Veneran had done was always on her mind but only slowly gaining in strength. She had read the file; she had seen the truth; and she had felt her own anger rise – at a being that was joined to her.   
Midnight disappeared in the Tower.   
Go and talk to him! The reasonable part of her screamed in agony.   
After how he had treated him?   
He tried to talk to you! He wants to talk to you! Are you really so blind?!   
Tarakk's optics dimmed in emotional pain as she was torn between her choices.

Midnight left the Tower, trying to suppress the pain he felt.   
<I thought it would go better> Steve sighed. <I'm sorry>   
<Not your fault> Midnight replied, voice heavy. <I should have seen it coming. I hurt her, now she retaliates, and I deserve every drop of venom she can fling my way. I think we're past the point where we could have made up>   
<Don't be so sure about that, Mid>   
He laughed humorlessly. <Steve, I made it quite clear to her that I despise her kind. I told her I hate her. I tried to apologize and she refused to accept it. I have to live with the truth>   
Steve sighed softly. Midnight accepted it all, the whole pain, because he had been hurt in the past before and he had continued. Now he would continue as well. He had been with the young Sentinel for most of his life and he had to accept as well.   
<Give her time. She just needs to think about it.>   
<I don't think so> Midnight transformed and shot into the air. <I'll be .... Steve, I need time to think>   
<It's okay>   
<Thanks>

* * *

DJ sat back and stretched, then interlaced her fingers behind her head. "Thanks for the great day."   
Spike, sitting at her side in his dragon mode, smiled. "Thank you as well, though I think visiting the movie theater again in the near future will be a trial."   
DJ laughed. "True!"   
They had spent the afternoon in Strata-Mainframe, after Spike had shown his granddaughter some of the more remote parts of the west continent. DJ didn't get out of Below a lot, except for a few visits to Strata-Mainframe or West Central, and he had almost heard her brain kick into gear when she had seen all those skyscrapers, bridges, plazas and more. There was no stopping her. She had inherited her talent for design from her mother, who was a brilliant artist. While Kim Moya-Witwicky followed the art of painting with oil, water or drawing with ink and pen, her daughter had a very good grasp of architectural design of the grand style.   
When they had returned to the twin city, DJ had convinced him to visit the movies, and though the lady at the entrance had protested that Spike wouldn't fit and that Cybertronians had their own theaters, they had gotten the tickets. That had been mainly thanks to a blonde fury named Dana Janine Witwicky and her rather loud tirade about discrimination. Spike had to grin when he recalled the manager's face when she had gone on about rights, racism and more, adding to it that the Protogen robot was her grandfather, shocking the manager to the core. He'd never forget the man's expression.   
"But it was worth it!" DJ now declared with a grin as wide as was humanly possible.   
Spike chuckled.   
"What are your plans now that Below is in the hands of techs and engineers?"   
DJ shrugged. "No clue. There are so many projects going on..... I'll wait and see. It's nice to have some time to myself, I have to confess. And you?"   
Now it was Spike's turn to shrug. "Explorations are at a hold since no new coordinates have been declared safe at the moment. The three destinations we have confirmed and explored are currently mapped and the Gatekeepers prove to be a great help."   
"Migration," DJ muttered.   
"What?"   
"I don't know, but it somehow feels like the Cybertronians are using this as a chance to migrate, don't you think? We find new worlds, we send in exploration crews, and then a base camp is established." She shrugged.   
"Yes, it's kinda like this, but it's also a necessary step. The doorways allow us access to world it would months or years to reach. Others are just around the corner, but nevertheless, none of them were ever explored. It's a great chance."   
DJ nodded, then looked up into the star-speckled sky. She was not by nature someone longing to explore, but sometimes she thought about what it had to be like.... going to strange worlds, visiting new places.....   
Suddenly her wrist computer beeped. DJ slapped her forehead.   
Spike bent his head and shot her a questioning look. "What?"   
"I have an appointment with Meuv in an hour! He is staying in Below a while longer to keep an eye on the work of the tech-heads. I wanted to give him all of my files." She cursed softly.   
Spike unfolded his wings and bent one leg to give her better access. "Hop on. I'll fly you there."   
She flashed him a grin. "Thanks, gramps."   
He groaned. "Please!"   
DJ laughed. It was just too much fun to tease him like this. She climbed up the smooth back and held on to the spiky thorns growing out of the back of the dragon. Spike launched himself into the air.

* * *

Starscream tapped his pencil against the desk top, his optics thoughtfully staring at the computer screen. He didn't actually read what was displayed there; his thoughts were miles .... even millennia.... away. He didn't know why he was thinking about it right now, at this very instant, but maybe it was because he had a break in his work for once; time to think. And what his mind was making him think about was not exactly connected with good memories.   
He was going through his past again, comparing it to the present and the possible future. Nearly two centuries ago he would have seen his future as the Decepticon leader, a powerful robot, leading an army of indestructible force, conquering worlds, ruling over millions. Megatron had died, Starscream was the new leader. A dream come true.   
Then he had died. Murdered. Killed at the moment of his triumph, at his coronation. Killed by the one he had thought dead; killed by a ghost.   
And he, in turn, had become a ghost, driven by insanity and madness, revenge and fury. He had drifted through space, the last scenes playing over and over again in front of his ectoplasmic optics. Humans called this 'unfinished business', an explanation as to why ghosts came to haunt the living. Yes, it had been unfinished business for him. He had wanted revenge; he had wanted back what had been taken from him.   
In the end he had made his own situation worse. Several possessions of the living had not helped and the last time he had nearly died, destroyed by the mind of Braintrust who he had thought dead. And from that moment on his life had changed. He had met Alyssa Dycran. An organic. A weak fleshling.   
And the strongest person he had ever encountered. His time with her had been .... interesting, a learning experience, and more. He had come to accept sides inside of himself, though not consciously. Then she had died, trying to help him, trying to make him whole again. The anger had risen again, this time against an unknown entity.   
His rebirth had happened then. He had been given a new body, different from the one he was used to, and though Starscream as such remained, Starscream the Decepticon was no longer. He was now a Gatekeeper. He still bore the Decepticon insignia, a sign of his heritage, just like Nightmare, but he no longer belonged to those he had wanted to lead.   
Starscream stopped his tapping, twirling the pen in his fingers.   
He had talked about it with Nightmare once, asking how the other former Decepticon handled it. Nightmare had the advantage of not having to deal with his own kind for millennia though, and because of it there had never been any problem like Starscream sometimes experienced them. Nightmare had spent his life as a Gatekeeper on Crea and had come back in contact with others only a few decades ago. True, his past haunted him, but in different ways.   
Starscream didn't know what to feel about this. Not really. He had never thought about it this deeply. He was still Starscream, he had his memories, he had his emotions, but he was no longer part of the group whose symbol he had worn with pride. The distance between himself and a Decepticon was immense. Nothing but the insignia on his chest reminded of his old life. His body was stronger, his basic structure completely different, his abilities nothing like what he had been able to do before. He had new powers and also new weaknesses.   
And one weakness was Sphere.   
His sister. His team mate. Alyssa Dycran reborn.   
They were bound to each other as team mates and he felt protective toward her. It had been hard to accept for him, but he had come to care. Deeply. His acceptance of her humanoid form had grown into liking, then pain when she had died, then happiness when she had been reborn. They had spent a century on the space station, fighting most of the time, word fights, verbal insults..... And it had been fun. He had enjoyed it.   
And he had feared it.   
Sphere knew more about him than anyone; more than he was comfortable with. When he had been inside the Host space, when both had still been in their old forms – he a ghost, she a humanoid – she had been able to strip away the protective shields, layer by layer, and see into his soul. He had been unable to defend himself, had been vulnerable, at her mercy, and she had cared. She had brought him back. And through knowing him she had helped him.   
Starscream sighed and tore his eyes away from the screen.   
That she was developing a relationship with Megatron didn't help. Not at all. Megatron and he were no longer enemies like before, but Starscream still couldn't stand to be around him. Megatron was like a red flag for him. And there was the fact that he and Sphere were getting closer and he had to deal with it.   
Starscream sighed again.   
Now he was here, back on Cybertron, doing a job that was a lot like the one he had done before the war: examination, evaluation, building theories, trial runs .... pure and simple science. And it felt so good. No constant back-stabbing, no fear of retaliation, no checking his quarters for traps every time he entered.   
Full circle.   
He was back where he had started. On Cybertron, as a scientist, accepted. He sometimes wondered who or what had started this development. Unicron? Galvatron? Braintrust? He didn't know. Whatever it had been, he was grateful.   
"Thinking again?"   
The soft voice intruded into his reflections, jolting him out of them, and he smiled a bit. "In a way."   
Sphere sat down on the edge of the desk. "Don't hurt yourself," she teased.   
He smiled again. "I'll try."   
She looked thoughtfully at him. "Anything you want to share?"   
Starscream pondered this. Sphere knew him inside out, knew his quirks, his traits, his thoughts, but she was not a mind-reader. She was just someone with a good memory for the past who was also always acutely aware of the state-of-mind of those around her, especially in her team.   
Now he shrugged. "I was just thinking about the last two centuries. How this short time changed so much for me....."   
"For the better or the worse?" she inquired.   
He met those emerald optics in a for a Cybertronian alien face. Like him, Sphere structure and body was not Cybertronian and she would always stand out. She accepted her difference, had come to work with it, sometimes use it, and she had taught others to accept her the way she was.   
"Both, I think," he answered truthfully. "I have a new life, a new meaning ..... someone I can trust." He smiled briefly. "But I also left my past behind; I'm different; I'm no longer who I was all my life."   
She nodded. Starscream reminded himself that for Sphere, the change had been even more profound. He could at least see his old comrades, sometimes talk to them, but Sphere.... she had never returned to her homeworld and he sometimes wondered if she hadn't secretly wanted it.   
"Change is inevitable, Starscream. We all change, in many ways, in different ways, sometimes invisibly, sometimes openly – for everyone to see. Whether we accept these changes or not, they will happen." Sphere smiled again. "And I think you changed more to the better than the worse."   
He was slightly stunned. "Uhm, thanks .... I think."   
"Though most of the time in the last century I was more than tempted to introduce you to a kick in the afterburner."   
He laughed. "Thank you."   
Sphere grinned. "And you deserved it every time." She slid off the table, growing serious again. "Whatever happened in the past, I believe it was somehow for a reason. And it all came out for the best."   
With that she left him alone. Starscream watched the door to the small cubicle used as office space for all teams slide shut.   
Yes, somehow it had all come out for the best.

* * *

"Welcome back on Cybertron," Rodimus Prime greeted the two Sentinels, trying to ignore Gryph's almost hostile expression. He saw only half of her face, but this half expressed so much disgust and loathing, that it took him quite a lot not to let his own anger flow into his words.   
"Thank you," Claw replied instead of his team mate.   
"I'll inform Midnight of your arrival ...."   
"No," Gryph ground out. "You'll do no such thing. We are not here to be under his command."   
"I didn't imply...."   
"I said no!"   
Claw met Rodimus' cooling optics and almost imperceptibly shook his head.   
"Okay," the Autobots' second agreed. "Quarters will be assigned to you in West Central, you know where to go when you need something, and except for the areas with authorized access only, you can go wherever you want."   
"I know the drill, Prime," Gryph said coldly.   
"Fine. Even better." He smiled, though he was very hard pressed not to let it slip into a cold mask.   
Gryph nodded once and then left his office. Claw remained and gave Rodimus an apologetic look. "I know she rubs you the wrong way," he said softly, "but she isn't really like this, Rodimus."   
"I know. A lot happened and she is angry, but she should try and contain that anger a bit better."   
Claw shrugged. "She is hurt and she was always a very outspoken and action-oriented personality. She can't keep her anger inside. She needs to vent it – on who- or whatever."   
Rodimus smiled, this time a bit more friendly. "I understand, but if she keeps annoying and irritating those who want to help....."   
Claw chuckled. "That is one trait she won't be able to lose. Inform Midnight of our arrival. I'll see to the rest."   
"Thanks, Claw."   
The Sentinel nodded and left as well.   
"Midnight's gonna be soooo thrilled to have her back," Shanygn remarked dryly.   
Rodimus looked at his partner and grinned. She had been silently sitting through Gryph's short invasion of his office, studying the female Sentinel.   
"Yep. But I think as long as Gryph doesn't intentionally try to stir up trouble, we can live with her presence, however provoking it may be."   
She met his optics. "What about the Seekers? You know she hates them."   
He nodded. "I know. I'll inform Tornado as well .... and Wild Card. Let's just hope she didn't come back just to follow her revenge."   
Shanygn sighed. Everyone knew Gryph hated Wild Card because she believed he had killed her team mate Shao millennia ago. Wild Card insisted that he had only found the dead body but hadn't killed her. Gryph called him a liar and had openly threatened to kill him once. Well, it had been after she had been out of the Game and maybe she had been confused, thinking she was still inside the virtual reality, but Rodimus wasn't so sure about that. Gryph wasn't to be taken lightly.   
He activated the terminal's com link and called Tornado. Better be prepared.

* * *

Cathy sat on the couch, staring at nothing specific. There were several boxes on the low couch table and one was in her lap right now. The boxes contained letters, old pictures and some assorted items. All of them were nothing but memories, some good, some bad, all of them hers. Looking at one of the pictures she wished she had the strength to simply tear it up and throw it away. Or better still: burn it. But she couldn't because it would only destroy the physical evidence. The memories would live on.   
Someone walked up to her and placed a steaming mug on the table. From the smell of it the mug contained coffee. The weight of her visitor dented the couch cushions and she felt the physical presence almost as if the other one was touching her.   
"Cathy?"   
The voice intruded into her memories. Only a few of them consisted of childhood joys, laughter and fun. Most of them were nothing but serious lessons about aliens, about alien influence, about bad and evil aliens, about death and destruction, nightmarish tales. The child Catherine Lee had listened to the tales and stories, to the reports and teachings. She had learned to fear and she had learned to hate. The child Catherine Lee had not known why she should hate aliens. Not really. Words were all fine and well, but weren't there good aliens? Hadn't the giant robots brought them all those wonderful things, like hoverboards and monorails and faster travel and space flight?   
Punishment had followed those innocent words and because the child had been afraid she had never spoken up again. She had lived by her parents' teachings, had hated and feared.   
The woman Catherine had tried to get away, had fled into work. She had risen to high positions, had fought her way to the top, but the fear, the xenophobia, had stayed. And then she had come to Cybertron, had left Earth and all the reminders of her old life, only to be confronted by the fears she had always fought as well.   
Someone touched her arm and she looked up, right into the worried eyes of the only individual who had ever tried to be friends with her, despite her icy exterior, despite a personality that warded everyone off. Jefferson Winters, a human, Interfaced. And a friend. The others, fellow Interfaces, were now growing into something resembling friends, but there was still a distance, a gap that was only slowly closing.   
"I'm okay," she said softly and placed the picture back in the box.   
She had taken those physical reminders with her. Why..... she didn't know. She had always carried them along. She had tried to leave them, along with leaving Earth. No chance.   
And now part of the physical reality was coming back to haunt her. Not a picture or a newspaper article or a video tape. A living, breathing being. Someone who was close to her and also far, far away.   
"You are not," Jeff said, closing his hand around her arm.   
When had he come that close that she accepted him? When had Winters stepped into her life and wasn't about to leave again? She didn't really know. She remembered when he had first approached, his smile and openness, his compassion and understanding. She had expected everything but not that. Not the understanding.   
And she had not expected him to grow into more than a friend.   
"Cathy?" he asked again.   
Cathy Lee sighed deeply. Someone had stepped into her life again, out of the past, out of the darkness she wanted to forget. He had invaded her new life, had talked to the other close person in her life, the one she had feared as a child: a robot. F/X.   
She closed her eyes.

Jeff looked at the copper-haired woman sitting on the couch, noting the fine lines of stress on her face. He knew these lines. She was under emotional pressure and she was torn apart by it. And he had a pretty good idea what it was: Paul Russell, her father. Jeff and F/X had talked. Well, it had been F/X approaching him, asking for help with a problem he didn't seem to fully understand. Jeff had listened and he had seen the problem, the trouble, and the emotional baggage.   
"F/X talked to you, right?" Cathy Lee suddenly asked, looking straight into his eyes.   
Jeff was surprised. Had her partner leaked this? Had she picked it up?   
"Don't look so stunned," she added wryly. "It's just too coincidental that you pop up on my doorstep...."   
He smiled. "F/X is confused and worried. Yes, he talked to me and I explained some things to him he can't understand right now, but ...."   
"You can't understand all of it either," she finished the sentence.   
Jeff shook his head. "I understand your feelings and I can't tell you what to do, only help you with whatever you decide." He smiled again.   
She laid a hand over the one holding her arm and mirrored the smile. "It's not so easy, Jeff. Not at all. Just ..... just thinking of facing him in person, looking into his eyes, seeing the past again, it makes me sick. It's worse than my xenophobia..... it's ...." She shook her head and looked at the floor.   
Jeff laid an arm around her shoulder and held her, trying to comfort her though he knew there was no real comfort. There were only memories. It hurt him to see her like this.   
He and Cathy Lee had grown into good friends and though she was still suffering from xenophobic attacks when around aliens, she was getting better. Her former attacks had been violent, turning her into a trembling wreck; Jeff tried to be a support for her and he knew it was working. She was relaxing, she was actually meeting with some of the other Interfaces from time to time, and Kayla had once mentioned that Cathy had exchanged some words with her. Jeff had felt like cheering then.   
And now this......   
He knew she had to face it somehow, close this chapter of her past once and for all, and not simply hide the book as it was in.

* * *   
Phoenix sat on the examination table and patiently let First Aid check her systems one last time. She felt okay and this was only a routine check-up, performed once a month. And it was First Aid's recurring chance to learn about Sentinel and Seeker construction. That he now also had Protogens to treat had not kept him from continuing his studies concerning their systems.   
"You are fine," he then told her and she gave him a smile. "All systems in optimum range."   
"Thanks."   
First Aid's visor glinted with a smile.   
Phoenix slid from the table and said good-bye to the Autobot medic. As she left the treatment room she was already expected by Tornado. The way his mouth was set into a thin line and judging by his kind of dull silver optics, he wasn't in the best of moods.   
"What is it?" she asked, slightly concerned.   
"Rodimus called me a few minutes ago. Gryph is back."   
Phoenix knew what this meant. All Seekers had to be on their toes concerning this Sentinel, especially Tornado as the leader and Phoenix as his second-in-command.   
She sighed softly. "Does Midnight know?"   
"He's out. Rodimus left a message."   
The walked down the corridor.   
"What do you want to do now?" Phoenix asked.   
"Call in every Seeker and inform them. Not all have met Gryph the last time she was here and know how she still reacts to our insignia. I want to keep incidents down to a minimum."   
She nodded. "I'll get right to it."   
Tornado allowed himself a smile. "Let's just hope she doesn't start a personal war."   
"Because of Wild Card?"   
"And us."   
Phoenix nodded again. "Let's just hope...."

* * *

Right now, Wild Card had other worries than a revenge-seeking Sentinel. He came out of the Gate, closely followed by Aurora who he had Gated with him. Before them hung a small planet. At first look it looked peaceful, but he knew it wasn't. Not that there was a war raging there. No, worse. There had been a war. Some time ago. And it had left the planet torn up and bleeding, its population dying, without hope.   
The name of the planet was Nebulos.   
Both Sentinels flew past the warning buoys and toward a battle cruiser hanging silently in space. Wild Card sent a short transmission and received clearance to land in one of the shuttle bays.   
As they transformed, the door leading from the shuttle bay to the inside of the ship opened and an Autobot stepped out. Wild Card flinched a bit. He looked old... worn .... like he hadn't slept or recharged properly for decades. And that was probably true.   
"Hello, Brainstorm," he said with a smile.   
Brainstorm, the last surviving Headmaster, smiled as well, but it was a weak smile. Aurora glanced at Wild Card and he saw that she held the same thoughts he had had.   
"Welcome aboard the Watcher."   
He led them back inside and they were soon in one of the small rooms doubling as a conference room or simple day room. The Watcher was a rather old cruiser, one which had taken part in the war and had not been scrapped. The Autobots had repaired it and sent to Nebulos. Brainstorm had volunteered to act as the Watcher's captain and Optimus had agreed, knowing why Brainstorm wanted it. The crew was small, mainly consisting of those weary of war and wanting a place away from Cybertron.   
"We registered no perceptible changes," the Headmaster now said, voice level, but there was a deep-set pain in it. "The death rate is almost stable and except for a few more resistant Nebulans, no one is really safe. I talked to the tribe leaders and they have given up hope." The pain was now audible. "The population is down to 30 %."   
Aurora dimmed her optics in shared pain.   
"The virus has started to mutate even more and there is no telling if it will ever stop," Brainstorm whispered, clenching his hands into fists.   
"Have the Nebulans thought about letting us send in a new team of helpers now that the war is over?" Wild Card wanted to know. "Some of the Venerakkin medics voiced that they wanted to try and help."   
Brainstorm shook his head. "Almost all the tribes I talked to said they don't want help. They said we tried before and failed." He inhaled deeply, unable to meet their optics. "They have accepted their fate."   
"But....." Wild Card started to protest.   
Brainstorm shook his head again, this time with more force. "We have to respect it. I have to respect it," he added softly. "The Watcher will remain here .... as long as is necessary.... but we won't interfere."   
Aurora nodded. Yes, they had to accept it. It was the Nebulans' decision, it was their lives... their planet.

* * *

Gryph stood on Cybertron, feeling tired and beaten. All she had believed in was dead, all she was faced with was new. She was back on the planet of her origin, but somehow she had lost the meaning of her life. In the past she had been a one-robot fighting force, used to sabotage, kill and spy for the Quintessons. When she had fled with the others, she had used her talents for special missions, helping Thon Roque with whatever she had. She had been a loner then, not used to team work, but Roque had slowly shown her what a team meant. Not only burdens .... it meant friends. Her team had grown to be a tight circle of supportive friends and they had never let her down either on missions or outside.   
Now she had let them down.   
Pain twinged inside her. Claw insisted there was nothing she could have done. They had been taken prisoner by a force far greater than theirs and it was pure luck they were out of the game now. She should be grateful for it.   
Gryph wasn't.   
Ashk was dead. A life wasted by an unknown entity with no regard for life at all. Ashk had been a vital and energetic Sentinel, a source of strength and hope whenever someone felt down. She had been a medic by profession but had substituted as whatever was required. She had been talented. She had been a close friend.   
And she had been Interfaced.   
Gryph moaned softly as the implications finally hit her. Her mind leaped to different scenarios. Had the Interface died with her? Had his death been hers as well? Had Ashk's death killed her partner? Or was Xita still out there? In the game? He hadn't been among those found in stasis and revived, and he hadn't been anywhere in the chamber they had found Ashk's body.   
Gryph shook slightly. She had let them all down.   
"Hello, old friend."   
She didn't turn. She didn't want to face the one standing behind her.   
Skywolf sat down on one of the airvent blocks on the rooftop. He silently watched his friend, knowing she was in pain but not ready to confess it. She was too proud for it.   
"Welcome home," he said softly.   
"It no longer is my home," she whispered.   
He tilted his head.   
"That's what SkyDancer said when we stumbled over him by accident. Somehow, looking at it all, I feel the same. Too much has changed and I'm a relic out of old time, unable to change as well."   
Skywolf smiled ever so slightly. "If you are a relic, what am I?" he asked, amused.   
She glanced at him and he thought he saw a fleeting smile. "You know what I mean, Wolf. We are all relics out of a time long ago, a time those living here don't want to remember. And me neither. We don't belong here. We are history."   
"Yes, we are history, but we belong to this world like the other Cybertronians as well. We shaped it, just like they are shaping it now. And we can help and we do."   
Gryph frowned slightly. "Why did you return?"   
"Because this is our home. And because we no longer want to run. The past is the past." Skywolf looked seriously at her. "It's our shared past and we faced the consequences, but we also accepted it. Both sides."   
"Because Midnight said so?" she growled.   
Skywolf smiled again. "No. He was the power behind our return, true. He and Rodimus Prime. They did what they could to make this alliance work and it did. But he didn't force the alliance upon us." He watched her. "He is not the enemy, Gryph."   
She clenched her hands into fists.   
"Accept him as what he is. He is our leader, want it or not. No one asked him either. And he is a Sleeper ... like you."   
She hissed. "No!" Gryph glared at him. "There were no more Sleepers! My activation was the only one and the others were destroyed before the Quintessons could activate them!"   
"He was born much, much later, and you know it. You read the history files. Midnight never was part of the Quintesson Sentinel forces. He never fought in the wars."   
"One more reason why he shouldn't lead! He has no idea what we are other than a robot race!"   
Skywolf rose slowly, optics dead serious. "Oh, yes, he has. He has suffered because of it, he nearly died because of it, and he keeps taking the blame and accusations because of it. He takes responsibility for each and everyone of us, regardless of origin or age. You can disregard him as a commanding officer, but I wouldn't advise you on disregarding the fact that he is a fellow Sentinel!"   
Gryph blinked. "Why do you defend him, Skywolf?" she asked quietly. "Do you own him a debt? Have you taken a vow? What does he own your loyalty to?"   
The medic inhaled deeply. "He is my friend, Gryph. He has been so ever since we met. And yes, maybe I owe something him. If so, it is a debt I can never repay!" His optics glowed darkly. "But he doesn't have my loyalty because of some falsely understood sense of honor. He has mine and those of the others, even those of the Seekers, because of what he is and what he did."   
She regarded him a long time. "You truly do accept him," she said slowly. "You like and trust him."   
Skywolf didn't answer. He didn't need to. Gryph turned to look back at the Cybertronian landscape.   
"I cannot."   
"Because you think you might betray Thon Roque?" he asked quietly.   
Silence.   
"Roque trusted him. He trusted him enough to see past appearances and discover the potential." Skywolf watched the partially covered face of his old-time friend. Gryph was torn. "You only see the blackness, the alien exterior. You see the age and connect it with inexperience. You can't make the next step because you are afraid."   
A deep growl came out of her throat. "I am not afraid!"   
"In a battle, no. Physically I wouldn't dare go up against you, Gryph. But this is not a battle of swords or fists or guns. It's a battle in your mind." Skywolf smiled slightly. "Can you win? Against yourself?"   
With that he turned and walked away, leaving a deeply confused and shaken Sentinel alone on the roof.

* * *

Steve was busy trying to sort through a ton of stuff he didn't even know where to put and he was slowly but surely drowning in files. He wondered what driven him to agree to taking over this part of Midnight's work. Well, he had kind of volunteered. And it was a way to get his mind off the evening with Ashtar. He had been stupid. The whole idea had been stupid. With a sigh he lifted a pile of disks and paper to carry them to another place to gather dust –   
\-- and gave a choked gasp of surprise as he looked into two glowing optics in a lupine face. The pile hit the floor.   
"Tarakk!" he exclaimed. "Geez! Wear a bell around your neck!!"   
The wolf looked mournfully at the mess of the floor. "I'm sorry, Steve, I didn't want to startle you."   
Steve inhaled deeply and tried to calm his racing heart. "I'd be lying if I told you that you didn't. "   
Tarakk smiled and sat down on her haunches. "Sorry again."   
Steve looked at the cluttered mess on the floor, sighing, and decided he could leave it like this for now. "Anything particular I owe this visit to?" he now asked the Venerakkin.   
Actually, Steve had a pretty good idea what was going on inside her head, but he wanted to hear it from her.   
"Midnight talked to me," Tarakk said softly.   
"I know. He told me."   
She hung her head. "I was a fool, Steve."   
He smiled slightly. "I won't agree, I won't disagree. You both made mistakes."   
Tarakk sighed. "And I rubbed it in instead of trying to go half the way, and I let him leave."   
He nodded.   
"Steve, I .... can you ..." she stumbled over the words. "Where is he?"   
Steve shrugged. "Out. Flying or something, maybe jumping or Gating. He needs to be alone right now. He is angry ....confused....hurting."   
"Oh." Tarakk winced slightly and hung her head again.   
The human watched her, smiling again. "But if you want to, you can wait here.... and maybe help me with this...." He gestured at the piles.   
Tarakk allowed herself a chuckle and transformed. "Who made this mess?"   
Steve shrugged. "Everyone who thought building piles is fun, hoping I might be able to make sense of it all."   
"What is this stuff about anyway?"   
"These are the hard copies of the files we found in the Veneran lab." Steve looked closely at the Venerakkin and was not disappointed. Her optics flickered once and she briefly withdrew.   
"I see......"   
"Listen, Tarakk, you don't have to...."   
"But I want to," she interrupted him seriously. "And I want to know."   
Steve nodded. "Fine with me."   
They set to work.

* * *

It was a busy night and since the movie premiere had been quite a success, a lot of people were now bustling in the streets, swarming into bars, restaurants and dance clubs. Few chose the small club at the edge of Mainframe, the business district, though. It was a secret little bar, warm and friendly, never overcrowded and a place to meet and chat. It was what Jeff had decided might be the best place for what had been planned.   
Jeff came here from time to time, the first time dragged along by Steve, who had told him about this place. Many of the Interfaces came here and they were all well-known by the bar's owner. Cathy stopped as she entered with him and he stopped as well, giving her the time she needed to look around, size up the place. He knew what she was looking for: escape routes.   
He took her hand.   
"It's okay."   
She smiled bravely, then let him lead her over to a booth. He felt her fall back a bit, put up resistance as they walked closer, her hand clenching into his.   
Then they stopped again, this time in front of the booth. There was only person sitting at the dark wooden table.   
Paul Russell.   
He looked up, meeting the eyes of his daughter. Jeff saw how Cathy's eyes turned icy, distant, almost hostile. He squeezed her hand again and tugged slightly. She glanced at him, almost begging him to get her out of here, but he was relentless.   
'It's okay,' he voiced again.   
She stiffly walked the last two steps and sat down opposite her father.   
"Hello, Catherine," he said.   
Jeff retreated slowly, taking a place at the bar, keeping an eye on the two people, looking for signs of increasing stress in Cathy Lee. She was in her Ice Queen mode, he saw. Paul Russell would have a hard time getting through.   
<Wild Card?>   
<Here>   
His partner had returned from his Nebulos trip two hours ago and he and F/X were in F/X's quarters right now.   
<Anything?>   
<F/X says she is tense, her shields are up, but not shutting him out, and he thinks she'll either tear him apart or let him run into a dead end>   
He smiled involuntarily. <Okay. As long as she doesn't start going totally shielded, she's fine>   
<I know>   
Jeff nursed his beer, now and then looking at the TV mounted over the bar like in old Earth bars, trusting in his partner to alert him when things got critical.

* * *

The staffs flashed and crashed together. Thrust, parry, strike, parry. Thrust, parry, strike, parry. To the head. To the side. To the arm. To the legs. Keep circling! Never let the opponent get the upper hand!   
Damnit, she is fast!   
Gryph jumped back, blocking a blow. Her mind worked furiously on the problem she was facing. The only way out of this was ... let her strike and then hope it would provide a chance to slow her down.   
And the opportunity came. Her opponent brought her staff up, over and down Gryph's right shoulder. Had it been a sword and not a blunt staff, it would have sliced open her skin! Gryph stepped underneath it, robbing the blow some of its force with her own staff before letting it crash against her side. Instead of taking the full blow on the head, which would have probably compacted her internal support structure, maybe even jarred her neck circuitry, Gryph managed to turn it into a glancing blow on the left side of her helmet. She twisted her shoulder out of the way as her opponent's staff bounced off and swept on down. But she still staggered, knees buckling slightly from the blow.   
Gryph hissed softly, then, in a split second, ducked under the follow-up blow and rammed the end of her staff into her opponent's knees, following with another blow to the mid-section. Her opponent staggered back, no sound coming over her lips, but the optics flashed once.   
It was now or never.   
She swung her staff round in a sideways arc, slamming it into her opponent's upper arm, where it connected with an audible crunch, denting the gray metal. Reversing her grip, Gryph aimed a similar blow on the left arm, putting all her strength into a two-hand slice.   
To her surprise, her opponent, shaken from the blow but far from out, threw her left arm upwards and outwards, stopped the blow with the palm of her hand, then closed her fingers around the thick shaft.   
Gryph cursed and tried to pull the staff out of the grasp but found it stuck in the outstretched hand.   
Red optics met her green ones.   
"Gotcha," Riverdance said, voice calm and level. There was no triumph there. She was simply stating a fact.   
This Decepticon is incredible! Gryph thought, amazed. She had never met someone with this kind of fighting style and skill. Now she only nodded and released the staff. Some might call her a single-minded warrior, but she knew when to quit a game. In a real fight she would have gone on – whatever the cost.   
"You're good," she now told her training partner, rubbing some sore spots of her own.   
Riverdance smiled. "Thank you. You're not such a shabby fighter either. You only have to work on your sometimes quite open position. You fight with force more than with technique. And anger."   
Gryph played with the staff Riverdance had returned to her. Yes, she always fought with force. When her temper broke she channeled all into frontal assaults, hitting her opponent with everything she had, literally mowing him down. As stealthy as she could be as a spy and as tricky she was as an assassin, she was also a fury on legs when it came to hand-to-hand battles. BlackWing, the Sentinel training her back in the Old Times, under the Quintesson rule, had told her that it was necessary to beat her enemy right away, not let him get the upper hand first. Gryph was of a light and slight built. She was fast, but she had no real mass to throw into a battle.   
"That's where you are wrong," Riverdance told her now as Gryph relayed those teachings to her. "You can be small and light-weighed, but still beat a much larger opponent. It's the technique. Those with great power trust only their strength. You, as the one they will immediately see as inferior, have to fall back on skill, speed and technique."   
Gryph frowned. "I see."   
"If you want to, come back here and train." Riverdance smiled. "I teach a lot of Cybertronians. You are invited to join – either a group or for one-to-one lessons."   
"Thank you. I'll think about it."   
Gryph put the staff back where it belonged and then left. She had come to the training room out of curiosity and the need to vent off some of her steam. She had found that room was occupied and had been ready to go, then decided to watch the lonely female robot. It had looked like she had been dancing, her swords whirling against invisible enemies, her body flowing so smoothly and effortlessly, that Gryph had been fascinated. Riverdance was agile and graceful, her fighting style appearing effortless and powerful in one.   
Somehow Gryph had stayed and somehow Riverdance had managed to invite he for a battle game. It had shown her just how good Riverdance was and how much she still had to learn herself.   
Maybe she'd come back here.   
But right now she needed some time alone.

* * *

Midnight couldn’t say he felt very much better. He felt tired, that was it. Exhausted, mentally as well as physically. The Sentinel had spent the last hours Gating and jumping, trying out and training his new abilities. Still, as much as this required concentration, he had always found himself going back to his talk with Tarakk. And that had nearly resulted in several accidents. It showed him just how he depended on Steve in these matters. His partner could take over some of his functions and give Midnight more room for other things. Like thinking.   
He could have said some things better, couldn’t he?   
Or had he said too much?   
Shouldn’t he have gone in the first place, simply let the status quo remain? Because: what had changed now? Tarakk still didn’t talk to him, he was hurting, and life was going on.   
Midnight sighed and walked down the corridor to his quarters. At least he had tried.   
The door opened and he was presented with the well-known picture of his partner in the middle of a mountain of files. He smiled involuntarily at the sight, then his smile faded abruptly.   
Amidst the paper and disks was not only Steven Parker but also Tarakk. The Venerakkin turned at the sound of the door opening and their optics met.   
<Steve...what...?>   
Wildly surging emotions, most prominently anger, rose inside of him.   
<Calm down, Mid. She only wants to talk>   
<No!> Anger transformed into irrational fury.   
Steve’s blue eyes turned a more intense color and anger rose inside of him as well. <Either you two talk now or I’ll kick you from here to Alean without asking twice! She came here to talk to you and you were gone! Now talk, goddamnit!>   
Midnight blinked. Steve was truly angry. He felt it. And he knew his partner was right.   
<I’m just .....> He met Tarakk’s optics and saw a first flicker of emotion there. <Steve...> he said helplessly.   
<Talk> Parker said gently. <Just talk. No obligations, no pressure>   
"Hi, Tarakk," he managed.   
She nodded once. "Midnight." Tarakk placed the papers she had been holding on the table.   
Midnight saw that they were the files from the lab. What else? Steve was only working on these particular files. Anger surfaced again. Was she spying? Didn't she already know?   
<Mid, calm down! She had no clue about it all and she wants to know what set you off. She knows a few things, things she heard and picked up. The Veneran never told her anything!>   
"Uhm....."   
They stared at each other in silence. Steve rolled his eyes and Midnight sent him a nasty thought through the link.   
<Hey!> the human protested. <You are the one standing around like teenagers at a first date! Talk to her!>   
"Tarakk, I....."   
"Mid...."   
They stopped, Midnight smiling slightly.   
"I'm sorry," he then said. "I was unfair, I was stupid and I know I hurt you. I was an idiot."   
She sighed. "I know. You already apologized. And I was an idiot that I didn't want to accept it." Tarakk made a little gesture. "We both were idiots."   
He grinned slightly. "Yes....."   
Midnight saw Steve silently walk toward the door and leave. He smiled slightly, then concentrated on Tarakk. They had a lot to talk about......

* * *

Jeff woke, feeling beaten and still tired. It had been a long night, and a quite stressful one. Cathy Lee and her father had talked, Wild Card relaying some of the feelings inside the copper-haired woman to him. F/X wanted Jeff to know and because of that he kept the link open and told Wild Card, who in turn was sending it to his partner. Cathy had felt anger, pain, betrayal, rage – not a single positive emotion, and though F/X had tried to get her to open up a bit more, she had not let her father close. The whole talk had ended with her rising, face closed off, walking out of the bar. Her body language had been like that first time she had arrived on Cybertron: all crisp and business-like, face set into a frigid, impassive expression and her eyes were like ice cubes. Unsmiling.   
He had accompanied her home, walking silently with her, not trying to start a conversation. Wild Card's few words had been enough. F/X was unable to get through to Cathy and she was shielding again like mad. She hadn't resisted when he had come into the room as well.   
And she hadn't talked.   
Jeff had voted for making some tea and had busied himself in the kitchen. Cathy had accepted the cup without much change of expressions. But then reaction had set in. She had started trembling, tears gathering in her eyes and finally spilling down her cheeks.   
He had simply held her, cursing himself for setting all of this up, asking her to at least try it, causing part of the pain she felt. But then: one day she would have to face this and waiting until her father died would not be a way to do it, or to come to terms with her past.   
Cathy Lee had fallen asleep later.   
Jeff had warred with the decision he had to make: leave or stay. In the end he had stayed, using the slightly too small couch to sleep on. Now his legs were cramped, as was his neck, and he felt terrible. Well, maybe coffee would cure this. He rose slowly and padded over to the kitchen, trying to work the kinks out of his back and neck.

Cathy Lee woke and for a moment her mind was a blank. Then memories came back. She curled up, closing her eyes, willing her surging emotions to subside again. She felt sick.   
Stumbling out of bed she made it to the bathroom. She splashed some cold water into her face, resisting to swallow some of the old medication she still had. She hadn't needed it since she had accepted F/X as her partner and she had promised both F/X and Jeff not to depend on the pills again. Resting her hands on the sink's rim she forced herself to relax. After a while her body and mind quieted down, though she was still shaking badly. Looking up she met her reflection in the mirror. Her eyes were lying deep and she looked like she hadn't slept at all, and that was exactly how she felt.   
She looked like death warmed over.   
Cathy Lee sighed, feeling a gentle brush over her outer shields. She smiled involuntarily.   
<I'm okay>   
<Liar> was the soft reply.   
<But I will be>   
F/X smiled. <Yes>   
She left the bathroom, breathing deeply, then stopped. The way the couch looked, a crumbled blanket and some bunched-up pillows, someone had spent the night there. From the noises coming out of the kitchen, she suspected she knew who it was.   
"Morning," she greeted the dark-haired man standing at the fridge and giving it a closer inspection.   
He smiled but she saw that he was a victim of a night too short and sleepless as well.   
"Hi!" he now called. "Breakfast?"   
She nodded and sat down at the table, watching him busy himself with preparing something edible. Jeff was a wizard in the kitchen, she had found out, much to her stunned surprise. He was a very good cook and regularly did breakfast or lunch for the other Interfaces in the day room. He loved it and had once told her it helped him relax.   
"How do you feel?" he now asked.   
Cathy Lee sighed and gratefully accepted a cup of coffee. "I'm not sure. Tired, exhausted .....angry....."   
Jeff nodded and then slid a plate of toast, bacon and eggs her way. She played with the crisp bacon, sliding it over the plate, stabbing at it now and then.   
"It's dead, trust me."   
She looked up and smiled. "Thanks for trying to help."   
Jeff smiled again. "Just too bad it backfired....."   
She shrugged. "Maybe. I'm not sure. Give me time."   
"You know I will."   
<We both will>   
"Thanks," Cathy said softly, addressing both of them in one.

* * *

Nikaa slipped down the tunnel, evading the guards, the security drones and the sensors. He grinned. They were so stupid, it was like a child's play. He rounded another corner and suddenly bumped into something hard and definitely metallic. Looking up, his eyebrows rose with surprise. He was facing some kind of animal, larger than him, winged, looking like a bad cross between a bird and a reptile.   
"Where do you think you're going?" The voice was female.   
"Who are you?" he demanded, deciding to take the offensive. "Watch out where you giants are going! I was just walking down this corridor!"   
The head lowered itself and the female creature looked at him out of strange eyes. The eyes were not natural he saw. They looked like robot eyes.   
"You were trying to sneak into the Maze," she said.   
"So what?"   
She almost seemed to smile. "There are guards here for a purpose."   
"Didn't see any," he muttered.   
"But I saw you. I'm the Guardian of this place. Nothing slips by. Not even you." She gave him a little push.   
"Hey, easy!" Nikaa protested and started walking. "I'm going, I'm going!"   
They went back the way he had come, just much more openly and he sighed when he looked at Below again. "No fair."   
"All fair. The Maze is dangerous. What's your name?"   
"Nikaa."   
"I'm IceAngel, Nikaa, and believe me, the Maze is not to be taken lightly." The robot smiled again. "What were you trying to do down there anyway?"   
He sighed. "Just plain curiosity."   
IceAngel didn't seem to buy it, but she didn't say anything.   
Nikaa walked down the streets, angry at himself for letting this female catch him. It wasn't the gender, though. It was just the plain fact that he had been discovered. Maybe he was growing rusty. Just how rusty was shown to him when he ran smack into another pair of metal legs. And this time he landed on his butt.   
"Can't you metal heads watch where you are walking?!" he erupted, angry black eyes staring at the much larger ...female.   
Nikaa groaned. What was it with him?!   
The green optics looking at him out of a dark face were far from friendly. The female robot looked different from most he had seen since he had woken, mainly because she had feathers covering her chest area and wings adorning her back.   
"I was watching where I went, human!" she hissed. "You seem to be blind!"   
"Don't call me human, metal head!" Nikaa got up and brushed his clothes off.   
"Don't call me metal head!" she growled.   
"Or what?"   
The robot transformed and he looked into two green, enraged optics sitting in a bird-like head. The massive, cat-shaped body displayed the power hidden inside and Nikaa felt a cold knot of fear. He didn't show it though. His face was impassive.   
"You shape-changers don't scare me!"   
"Maybe someone should start," she hissed and the long tail swished dangerously, the gleaming claws unsheathed.   
"Sure! Demonstrate how strong you are compared to us smaller ones!" he taunted her, his anger at getting caught earlier now transforming into anger at this annoying ...thing.   
The wings unfolded completely and she launched herself at him. The attack came completely by surprise, knocking Nikaa down again, harder this time. He had taunted the metal-head because he knew they didn't harm organics. He had been taught this and he had seen it was true. They cared. Well, not all of them. It was not largely connected to their different tattoos, but sometimes there was a tendency there. This female had not worn any of the tattoos. Maybe it should have made him more careful.   
Nikaa wheezed. The creature's paw was pinning him down, keeping him on the floor, the pressure immense. Glowing optics stared down at him and he thought he felt their heat burn into his mind.   
"You are the weaker ones, don't ever forget that, human!" she whispered.   
"I'm ....not ...human!" he hissed, fighting for air.   
The claws left and right of his head buried themselves into the floor. Nikaa couldn't suppress a cry of pain as the pressure on his chest increased through it.   
A strange emotion flickered over the shape-changers face and she suddenly released him, sitting back. If he had read it right .... the emotion had been..... fear? Sitting up, Nikaa massaged his bruised chest.   
"I ... I ...." She shook her head. The wings shook spasmodically.   
Nikaa looked at her, eyes narrowed. She was really afraid. Not of him; of what she had done.....   
"I ...nearly did it...," she now whispered.   
Nikaa approached her and she winced away. "Only nearly," he said, surprised at how calm he sounded. Somehow he understood.   
Understood? Nikaa was surprised. Why should he understand?! This metal head had attacked him! He should be furious! But something inside of him told him why she had done it.....   
She shook her head again, more violently. "No!" She turned and walked off, too fast for him to follow, launching herself into the air a few feet away.   
Nikaa watched her, wondering what had just happened. His chest hurt and he knew he'd have some colorful bruises tomorrow. He didn't think he had broken something. Walking slowly down the streets he went back to the small cubicle he called his home. His mind was suddenly busy with the strange shape-changer and he didn't even know why.   
Gryph, something inside of him whispered.

* * *

It had been a dumb accident.   
Really.   
Steve sat on the examination table of med bay, wincing at every move. His ribs were throbbing with pain and his left hand was slightly stiff.   
Dumb, dumb, dumb.   
'Idiotic' might be another word for it. All had started with a training program. Deciding he needed to take his mind off his emotional baggage concerning Ashtar, Steve had browsed through the extensive files and had finally chosen one of the lighter battle scenarios. It required mostly a sharp eye, agility and some logic thinking. It should have been easy.   
It hadn't been.   
Well, now here he was, his ribs bruised, his wrist probably jolted a bit too much. He didn't think anything was broken, mainly because his battle armor had taken the brunt of the attack. Whoever had developed the surprises in this program, he better not cross Steve's way in the next days.   
"Okay, now...." Kyle called jovially as he entered the room, smiling much to cheerfully for Steve's liking. "I heard you took quite a fall."   
"Don't rub it in, Kyle, okay?" Steve growled.   
The medic chuckled. "I heard you tried out one of the experimental programs."   
"Nothing on the file said it was experimental," he muttered.   
Kyle smiled and carefully examined Steve's wrist. Steve winced and ouched once when Kyle prodded too deeply.   
"I don't think there is anything broken," the medic said. "But we'll x-ray it nevertheless. You'll have to keep it still and I'll give you a bandage. It will immobilize your wrist for a few days and then it should be okay. Now let's take a look at those ribs."   
"My ribs are fine."   
Kyle blinked in surprise. "Just a moment ago you said you had bumped your ribs and twisted your wrist.... I know you said it because the nurse took it down."   
"It's only a bruise!"   
"When did you study medicine, Captain?" Kyle asked, his tone of voice still friendly but slipping into his 'doctor's voice'.   
"Just give me a couple of pain-killers..."   
"Steve." There was an edge to Kyle's voice now that Steve recognized as 'now entering danger zone'. "Is something the matter?"   
"No," Steve mumbled. "You know how I hate hospitals."   
"Well, you spent an amount of time here lately," Kyle chuckled. "But this time you did it to yourself. Now take off your shirt and let me have a look at your ribs."   
The stern look accompanying this was enough to make Steve yield.   
There was a bruise running over Steve's left side and when Kyle carefully prodded and poked the bruise over at least three ribs, Steve winced perceptively.   
The x-rays only told them what he already knew. Nothing broken, just badly bruised. He wrapped Steve's wrist up tightly, immobilizing it, doing the same to the ribs. He then gave his slightly dark looking friend a pain-killer prescription and sent him back to his quarters to get some rest.   
"Try office work the next time you feel you have too much energy," Kyle teased.   
Steve only shot him a venomous look.

* * *

Steve lay on his couch, feeling slightly miserable. His wrist, completely immobilized, made it hard for him to do anything, and though his bandaged ribs had stopped throbbing somewhat through the pain-killers, they were still making any kind of prolonged sitting a trial. Lying down was best.   
Just lying, doing nothing .... but it was also boring. Steve hated doing nothing at all; he wasn't the person to simply sit back and do nothing.   
Mostly because it let his mind wander and he hated the results of those reflective moments even more.   
With a groan he slid deeper into the soft cushions and grabbed the remote of his TV set, zapping through the channels. Nothing was on. He kept the background chatter of a documentary up and closed his eyes, trying to relax.   
And he fell into a light doze.

* * *

Midnight tried not to look too threatening but he knew he was failing miserably. At least concerning the female humanoid now facing him. Ashtar's green eyes were a bright display of her fear of him and it hurt .... Midnight hated this fear. This was the female who meant a lot to his partner and her fear of him would maybe get between them. He banished those thoughts and smiled lightly.   
"Hi, Ashtar," he said, trying to keep his tone of voice friendly and non-threatening.   
Ashtar's body was rigid with her instincts barely under restraints. She wanted nothing more than bolt and hide.   
"Can I help you?" Midnight now asked carefully.   
"Where is Steve?" she asked. She was apparently trying to sound calm, but failed yet again.   
"In his quarters. He took quite a fall today. Kyle sent him off to get some rest." Midnight had to grin at his partner's mental rant about Kyle's orders. Steve had been in pain and was still feeling miserable, but he had finally subsided and followed the doctor's orders. Currently he was resting.   
"Ah."   
Ashtar was silent for some time. Midnight waited.   
"Is he ... can I .... talk to him?" she finally mumbled, evading his optics.   
Midnight suppressed a chuckle. "Sure. He's in. Just knock."   
Ashtar fidgeted. "I don't think he would ...errr...open."   
Midnight went down on one knee and tried to look beneath the mop of hair hiding the feline woman's face. She flinched visible, but didn't run.   
"He wouldn't?"   
She shrugged half-heartedly. "I don't think he would..."   
"And I think he would love to talk to you, Ashtar," Midnight interrupted her stammering. "Come?"   
Ashtar hesitated and then, carefully, slowly, followed him down the hallways to the human quarters. Midnight kept his mind shielded from his partner as he keyed in the correct entrance code. The door unlocked silently and the Sentinel leader smiled invitingly.   
"Your turn."   
With that he walked away, allowing himself a wide grin as he turned a corner, knowing exactly how Ashtar would act. She wouldn't be able to turn a way. No way!

Ashtar stood in front of the closed door, which was now open to her. Her mind was torn between entering and simply leaving.   
He was hurt.   
Hey, he is simply bruised and maybe a bit battered. Nothing life threatening.   
He needed her.   
No, he doesn't.   
Ashtar trembled and took a few hesitant steps toward the door, touching the cool metal. It was as if she could feel his presence behind this last obstacle. In pain. Alone. She gave a soft moan, head resting on the door, trembling even more.   
And then she pushed the door open and stepped in. Low noise from the TV greeted her.   
Steve's quarters were not larger or smaller than any of the others. He had a general living area, a small kitchen which he, like many, never really used all that much because the Interfaces cooked in the main area, a closed off bedroom and bathroom. No windows. There wasn't a lot of decoration. Either he hadn't lived in here for long or he wasn't very fond of personal things. Ashtar silently walked into the living area, not making a single noise. There was a picture on one wall, a landscape. She liked it. The floor was carpeted in soft colors and the couch set fit in perfectly with its equally soft colors.   
Ashtar stopped when she saw Steve -- and smiled fondly. He was lying on the couch, one hand loosely holding the remote, the other arm over his eyes, his breathing regular. She could see the bandages of both his wrist and an expression of shared pain crossed her features. She approached soundlessly and knelt in front of him. Grasping the remote control, Ashtar carefully worked it out of Steve's grasp, then turned off the television. She set it aside on the end table and looked at his bandaged wrists, running a light finger over the one covering his eyes. Wondering what his bruised ribs must look like, she made a strangled noise of sympathy.   
 "A...Ash?" Steve whispered groggily.   
He'd been half-aware of someone in the room with him, but the soft growl had told him immediately who it was. He couldn't believe it even as he opened his eyes to see her.   
Ashtar gasped slightly, turning her head away. She had meant to let him sleep. From the circles beneath his eyes, he needed it.   
"I....I'm sorry I woke you... Go back to sleep. I'll.. leave you alone." She gracefully regained her feet and took a step towards the door.   
 Steve's eyes widened in shock and fear as he sat up. "No!" he protested weakly. "Don't go. I was just dozing..." Ashtar hesitated, torn, her body tense. "Please stay, Ashtar..." The whispered plea sounded pathetic even to Steve, and he cringed inwardly, but didn't retract it. "Don't go." He reached over and gently grasped one of Ashtar's hands, his grip loose.   
 Ashtar paused a moment, then turned slightly toward him. Steve held his breath, hope kindling in his eyes. Then she nodded silently and his smile could have lit up the room.

Several rooms and levels away, Midnight mirrored that smile. Skywolf's expression was close to 'raising an eyebrow'.   
"They are talking?" he asked.   
His younger friend nodded. "Yep."   
"Well, it's a start."   
"Definitely."   
With that both Sentinel went back to work, knowing that the first step had been done and that it was always the hardest. Thinking back to his conversation with Tarakk, Midnight knew this was more than true. It would take more time, a lot more time, for all of this to settle and clear.

* * *

A silent shadow sat on the roof of what had once been South Port, listening to the sounds of the night this world offered. Pointed ears moved like little radar dishes and pupilless eyes stared into the night. A low rumble escaped the lipless beak and the creature stood, walking over to the roof’s end. Gryph stared at the distant lights, indicating life and people. She had come here into these ruins to be alone, to think .....   
Her mind was busy with the events of this day. She had attacked one of the organics. Just like that. Because he had teased and taunted her. Because he had verbally attacked her. He was no opponent for her, just a small fellow being. And she had nearly killed him in a rage that had not been directed at him.   
Gryph moaned softly. She hung her head in shame, wings hugging her body, tail curled around her powerful body. She had not wanted this! She had lost control! Just like that!   
And then there had been the things she had felt. It had been a short, intense sensation she just couldn’t categorize. And the feeling still lingered, though it was fading fast now, leaving a strange taste behind.   
She stared into a puddle of water on the roof. A pair of green optics stared back.   
What had she done?!   
Gryph shook her head. She had to get this anger undercontrol; tight control. She couldn't allow this to happen again!


End file.
